


In Season

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M, cherries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-01
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: A birthday ficlet for my very dear and wonderful friend laurie_ky.Beta'ed, bless her, by the lovely janedavitt.





	In Season

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday ficlet for my very dear and wonderful friend laurie_ky. 
> 
> Beta'ed, bless her, by the lovely janedavitt.

Blair leaned back in the chair morosely. He was going to have to sleep alone tonight. Alone, downstairs. Or upstairs, swathed head to toe in Saran Wrap; no way in hell would Jim let Blair's juice-stained skin actually touch his perfect blue sheets. Even if the fucking pie turned out okay.

_Life isn't only about sex_ , he reminded himself. It didn't help, even though it was true and even though it was his own fault that today life was mostly about pie.

Jim's favorite pie.

Jim's _favorite_ fucking pie.

But next time, if there was a next time, life was going to be a lot more about sex and a lot less about pie. Or about 'favorite' pie, anyway; so what if Jim didn't get the same avaricious gleam in his eye when apple pie was mentioned -- apples wouldn't require a self-sacrificial night on the futon, or Saran Wrap, in quantity. Not like cherries.

Cherries… At least he was done with the worst part, or what he could only hope had been the worst part. He glared at the bowl of disemboweled cherries sitting redly on the table in front of him, its once-white sides smeared with cherry pulp and surrounded by puddles of cherry juice and a scattered horde of escapee cherry pits.

Done with the worst part, right. Now all he had to do was clean everything up -- the table; fuck, the _floor_ \-- strip, throw away his clothes, all of them; wash his hair; and take a shower, preferably in bleach. And bake the fucking pie. Fucking cherries.

And when Jim got home he was going to laugh himself into a double hernia… And go to bed later on alone, protecting the blueness of his sheets.

Blair groaned and propped his elbows on the sticky table and his face in his sticky hands; it wasn't like he didn't already have cherry juice all over his shirt and his face anyway, and if he wasn't going to be sleeping in Jim's bed tonight, tangling his arms and legs with Jim's arms and legs, fighting over the covers -- and oh, yeah, having _sex_ \-- what the fuck did it matter how much more juice-stained he got?

Fucking pie. Three weeks' worth of sleeping with Jim, finally sleeping with Jim, after months of dreaming about sleeping with Jim, and he had to go and decide to make _pie_.

Great. Just great. Jim would have his favorite pie and be happy and Blair would wake up alone in the morning without Jim's fingers toying with his hair or circling his nipples or his cock, without Jim's lips anywhere.

Without Jim's lips everywhere. Everywhere; better than dreaming.

_Next_ time, goddammit, he was making apple pie.

\---------------------------

"Saran Wrap?" Jim's voice was a warm puff of laughter tickling Blair's ear, and Blair would have squirmed in pleasure if he'd had the energy; pitting cherries had turned out to require a lot more recovery time than he'd expected.

"Mmm-hmm," Blair mumbled. Jim's lips began a lazy trace down the side of his neck and he added, "Sheets. Your sheets; I didn't think you'd want to --"

Teeth tugged gently at the skin near Blair's collarbone for a moment, and then Jim said chidingly, "I'd think, from the amount of spunk you've spilled on these sheets, and the amount you've gotten me to spill, you ought to know by now that they're _our_ sheets."

_'Our sheets'_. Three weeks into sleeping up here with Jim, and the sheets were _their_ sheets. Blair shifted to nudge Jim with his hip, smiling up at the ceiling. "What if I'd been covered in pineapple juice?"

The teeth tugged again. "Then you'd be sleeping across the hall on Mrs. Lewinsky's couch, or downstairs with the Gormans and their twins and their cocker spaniel. I think Piddles has one of those dog beds; maybe he'd let you share."

Blair waggled his foot to kick Jim's ankle lightly. "You're tossing me out from _our_ sheets into other people's beds already? And their dog's name is Pebbles, Jim, not --"

"Trust me, Chief, it _should_ be Piddles. And no," Jim's hand angled down across Blair's hip and his fingers began to trail along Blair's pelvic bone, "nobody else's bed." Jim tongued the skin his teeth had been tugging at, then sucked in _hard_ , and yeah, okay, squirming was still possible.

"Unh," Blair said, and squirmed again. "Even Pebbles'?"

Jim's head moved down Blair's chest; this time his teeth tugged softly at Blair's nipple ring. "Nobody's," he repeated, with what sounded like satisfaction.

"I wouldn't go, anyway," Blair whispered. And it was true. He probably wouldn't have made it through half the night downstairs; he would've ended up standing here beside Jim's bed -- _their_ bed -- at two a.m. with the box of Saran Wrap in his cherry-red hands.

Jim let go of the nipple ring and Blair felt an odd sense of loss. For a moment -- until Jim's lips pressed a quick kiss against his chest; a kiss that became a series of kisses, drifting across his skin, and he was floating, drifting with them, as he lay there hickey-covered and cherry-stained on their blue sheets, with an equally cherry-stained Jim…

Floating, until a finger swirled in his bellybutton briefly. Blair moaned. The cherry pulp, and Jim's tongue there, earlier… God. That had been totally --

Totally…

Shit. "Jim! The table? The cherries?" Blair pushed himself up onto his elbows. Then winced — he was going to be sore in the morning; the dining room table, no matter how thoroughly covered with smashed cherries, was _hard_ when you were lying on it. Well, not when you were lying on it being licked. Or blown. Or fucked. You didn't really notice that particular 'hard' during any of _that_. But afterwards, yeah -- hard.

And they hadn't even cleaned everything up, just showered and sort of fallen up the stairs to fall onto the bed.

And the _cherries_ , all the cherries he'd pitted…

Blair moaned again, although not exactly for the same reason as before. "Oh, man; the cherries. I can't believe we --"

A palm covered his lips. "We'll buy more," Jim murmured between more drifted kisses. "It's cherry season. And I want my pie."  
 


End file.
